Why Would He Do That?
by The.Impala's.Trunk
Summary: Set in the 2014 shown in 5x04, The End. "Sam didn't die in Detroit - he said yes." "Why would he do that?" This is my take on how and why Sam felt he had no choice but to say yes to Lucifer, and how the scene between Lucifer and Dean that we see in the episode came to happen. R&R please!
1. Chapter 1

**5x04, The End. Future Dean informs Present Dean that Sam did not, in fact, die in Detroit; he said yes. Yes to Lucifer. Dean can't understand what would compel Sam to do what he'd sworn he never would, and asks "Why would he do that?"**

**I'm going to fill in a few missing pieces. This is my take on why and how Sam said yes to Lucifer in ****2014.**

**This fic got quite a lot darker than ****I ****initially intended it to, but I hope I got the depths of Sam's despair across, because we know that he wouldn't have taken the decision to say yes lightly. Issues of depression and a bit of alcoholism, so read no further if that bothers you.**

**Poems used (in bold): ****Richard Siken's "Road Music" ****and ****"Scheherazade"**

November 18th, 2014.

Sam swallowed the whiskey and felt the sharp taste hit the back of his throat. Not that he reacted to it. He was used to drinking a lot by now. _It _is_ the Winchester way, after all_, Sam thought to himself bitterly. _Let drink kill you before the monsters do. _

Sam slammed the bottle onto the table in front of him, alone in the dilapidated house he was squatting in for the week. Sam had been alone for a while now. He hadn't spoken to his brother in nearly five years – Dean didn't want to know anymore. Sam had pleaded with him, told him he was scared, asked for his help...and Dean just responded that they were better off apart. It had finally dawned on Sam that, in fact, his older brother was repulsed by him. Sam _disappointed_ Dean; disgusted him. Any hope of returning to how they had been before this whole thing exploded had long faded into the past.

The first time Sam had seen these emotions emerging from Dean was about seven years ago, when he first found out that Sam was using his powers given to him by Azazel. Dean had been so furious that he'd gone behind his back, had been working with Ruby...that he was beginning to look at his younger brother and not recognise what he saw. The anger from Dean that he'd displayed was just a defence mechanism, Sam understood that now; when Dean showed anger, it often meant that it was an attempt to quell the fear that he was really feeling.

Sam ran a hand through his hair and blinked back tears as he remembered how things used to be. He stood up shakily and wondered over across the room to the cracked shards of mirror hanging reluctantly on the wall. _Broken_, Sam thought. _Just like me_. Things had grown worse and worse over the period of the next year or two following that. Dean's almost unnervingly calm reaction when he discovered Sam's addiction to demon blood...which ultimately set the stage for the big fight between them. Sam, turning his back on the only family he had left – and starting the Apocalypse as a result. As Sam looked at himself in the mirror he could barely recognise himself, but he was well aware of the fact that he now hated himself perhaps any more that anyone else ever had. His eyes searched the features of his face; the dark, permanent shadows under his eyes, the stubble that had been neglected enough to start forming a beard. In short, the life had left Sam Winchester.

It had taken a few days after his last conversation with Dean nearly five years ago for this all to sink in for Sam. He felt he had destroyed himself, a broken shell that wasn't half the man he used to be. He had been semi aware for a brief period that this was an irrational viewpoint, that it wasn't as bad as he thought...but the strength to hold onto that belief had disappeared from his life not long after Dean had. He realised that he needed Dean in his life, not only to help him get perspective, not only to save him from himself, but simply to feel alive.

And now Dean didn't want to know him.

If he did, he would have found the opportunity in the space of five years, right? Sam looked down from the mirror, unable to face his own reflection any longer, and staggered back to the tired, collapsed sofa by the table. The only thing in the room was Sam and the whiskey, and he had grown numb to the pain that that thought used to bring. He'd always had a weakness for addiction, and it had become even clearer since he and Dean had been apart. Drinking helped to make Sam oblivious to what was happening to him, as if a few swigs of whiskey would change what he'd become. But Sam liked it nonetheless. It was better than reality.

Reality was where he was the guy with the demon blood. Reality was wear he was Lucifer's "meatsuit". Reality had crushing weights attached to it.

Sam began to take gulps, welcoming the golden brown liquid into his system like an old friend. He'd had plenty of time to practice, and plenty of reasons to do it. That was enough. Sam's vision started to blur about an hour or two later...or maybe it had been longer. Sense of time was lost as he drank more and more into the night. Finally, unable to hear his own thoughts screaming abuse at him for any longer, he fell thankfully into a drunken sleep.

This is what Sam Winchester was now.

"_**Sure, it's good to feel things. And if it hurts, we're doing it to ourselves...or so the saying goes .But there should be a different music here. There should be just one safe place in the world. Tell me, how all this, and love too, will ruin us."**_


	2. Chapter 2

November 19th, 2014.

Sam woke up to blazing autumn sunshine invading through his curtain-less windows, blinking ungratefully at the sun streaming onto him. He'd lost track of time, but he guessed it was around mid-morning, perhaps hitting 11 o'clock. Sam didn't have much use for time anymore. It's not like he did anything in the daytime anymore...apart from maybe drink. He'd stopped hunting a year or two ago, when the Croatoan virus started hitting the world properly. Hunting had only reminded Sam of the loneliness and despair that came with it, not to mention the constant reminder that the destruction of the world he was now witnessing was ultimately down to him.

Sam had fallen into deep depths of depression, and without anyone to save him, he'd embraced it. He couldn't see any way out. Apart from saying yes. The big yes. To the Devil himself.

He dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come into his mind. Sam shook his head and rubbed his eyes, which were stinging from the combination of tiredness and a mild hangover. Had he just considered saying yes? It was hard to tell. Sam wasn't fully convinced that he was completely sober yet, which was normal. He blinked forcefully a few more times and reached for the near empty bottle by the sofa.

As the day continued, the thought that had once been a fleeting instinct inside Sam's head was now a constant voice that wouldn't go away. Drinking a bit more helped ease it for a while, but it would always return. Yes. _Yes_. That word circled round in his head for several hours before Sam ended up throwing a bottle against the wall in anger. The shards of glass cascading over the floor and a couple hitting him on rebound didn't bother him; he needed to stop it somehow.

Why was this possibility seeming so appealing to him now? Was it a sign that showed he had truly given up? That he wasn't worth anything else anymore? _Maybe it was the revelation that there was no longer anything else to be done_, Sam thought, the idea turning his stomach.

Now the thought of saying yes had entered his line of thinking, he couldn't shake it. In a twisted way, it reminded Sam of how Jess used to nag him to take him out to the same restaurant every other Saturday back at Stanford. She'd loved that restaurant. Sam felt an imitation of a smirk creep onto his tired face, which quickly disappeared as he realised the difference between the two. That voice of Jess' had been constant, yes, but always a pleasure to hear. This voice – this one was not at all pleasant, or welcome.

As day turned into evening, and evening evolved into night, the thought got more and more pressing that Sam had drunk his way through nearly three bottles of straight whiskey to try and convince himself what he used to fight for. Dean would have soon dissuaded him otherwise. He could almost hear his brother's voice in his head.

"_Are you crazy? After everything we've been through, you're just going to give up?"_

Sam could hear it, but it failed to persuade him. Because Dean wasn't here anymore. He was hunting with Cas, and Bobby somewhere...if they were even still alive. Everyone had left him. He had no connections with anyone anymore.

A deep part of him yearned for another connection to someone. His relationship with Dean had long since shattered into pieces, and he hadn't seen Bobby or Cas in even longer. _Maybe the only connection you deserve to feel is Satan riding shotgun,_ responded the stubborn voice inside his head.

Sam took another swig of alcohol. It was going to be a long night before he managed to knock himself out.

"_**He was not dead yet, not exactly – parts of him were dead already, certainly other parts were still only waiting for something to happen, something grand..."**_


	3. Chapter 3

November 20th, 2014.

Every day was like the last. An endless cycle of drinking to get to sleep and drinking to numb the crippling pain inside him. It was getting worse. Each day he waited it seemed that that "yes" seemed more and more compelling.

Sam had had enough. Dean, Bobby, Cas...he was the least of any of them, he knew that. It had just taken a painfully long time to come to terms with it. At long last, Sam was finally being cornered by the one thing that he swore he'd never do; but he had run out of options.

He sat up from the sofa and pulled his battered laptop towards him as he switched it on. It was the first time he'd been on it in a while, and it looked almost as broken and tired as Sam felt. He opened up the internet and started browsing to find weather omens for any signs of Lucifer anywhere. Ohio had been experiencing bad storms – that was a possible signpost. There's been a huge lightning strike in Chicago...again, it was a possibility.

Sam scrolled down to see if there had been any other unexpected weather conditions in any major areas, and paused when he saw one.

Detroit, Michigan – temperature drop by 10 degrees for the past few days.

Sam let a slight hint of interest creep onto his face as this final report caught his eye. Detroit. That place...that city. Something felt like it was pulling him to that result, despite the other, more convincing weather disruptions in the other places. Right now, Sam was in Memphis, Tennessee...it wouldn't take too long to get there. He remembered the days when he and Dean used to travel a lot further for a lot less. Sam closed his laptop and had one last think about what he was intending to do when he got there. He had learnt the hard way, and lost everyone who had ever been important to him in one way or another. His family had abandoned him – or had he abandoned his family? He didn't know anymore.

After a deep breath, a quick glimpse in the mirror and throwing all of his belongings into two duffel bags, Sam left the run down house and grabbed a deserted car to borrow for the last trip of his life.

By the time Sam was an hour or two into the journey, he was craving another sip of whatever strong alcohol was available. Whenever he felt like this, he couldn't help but draw ironic parallels to his addiction to demon blood several years ago. All he saw in himself when this feeling took hold of him was weakness. _Weakness._ The word echoed in his mind as he tried to think of something else. He looked out onto the road ahead of him and saw the world that he had helped destroy. He could see a building in flames in the far distance and passed several other stolen cars parked at the side of the road. The only good thing was that because the roads were so empty, Sam could make it to Detroit in around 9 hours, he reckoned.

Somehow that wasn't any consolation for what he'd done. He sighed and blinked back tears as he continued to drive. The time for tears was over. It was about time he took responsibility and did the only thing that he could at this point. Sam turned on the radio and "Nights in White Satin" came playing reluctantly through the speakers. He smiled in spite of himself for the first time in weeks. He tapped his hand against the steering wheel in time to the music and was reminded of the countless hours that he and Dean had spent on the road together. How things had changed so dramatically in such a short space of time.

By the time it hit midnight, he was an hour away from Detroit. Sam felt himself getting an unpleasant mix of fear and guilt rising in his gut. He was scared. Really scared. He had lived a lot of his life being afraid, but he didn't know if he'd ever felt anything as unique and overwhelming as this kind of fear. And Dean wasn't there with him. Dean wasn't there to tell him that it was okay. It was okay to be scared. It was okay not to be invincible.

It was okay to give up. And say yes to the Devil.

Sam let one tear escape before trying to keep his emotions under wraps. Fear was not the Winchester way; he'd been raised better than that.

"_**There's the road, and there's the story where the road goes. And then more road, the roar of the freeway, the roar of the city sheening across the city."  
**_


	4. Chapter 4

November 20th, 2014, continued.

Sam stood outside the towering building in the middle of the high street, shivering from the cold surrounding it. Or maybe it was the fear kicking in again. Sam didn't know anymore.

He'd left the car he'd stolen a couple of streets away; he wouldn't need it again anyway. He'd also left his bags and laptop in there, too. He'd realised about halfway through the journey that there had actually been no point in packing them. Maybe it had been because Sam felt he had to have something – anything – to cling onto and to take with him. Was the normal? Sam didn't really care at this point. He'd never been normal, and the tradition definitely wasn't going to be broken now, of all moments.

If he thought about it too much, he'd back out. And continue to be the weak man he always had been. Sam steadied himself and walked in and up the winding staircase to the top floor. He didn't know how he knew that Lucifer would be on that floor, but somehow, Sam just knew. He felt a connection drawing him towards Satan, and the closer he got, the stronger it grew.

He wandered into the desolate, empty room and was faced with Lucifer, standing, facing him at the other end of the room. There were no demons around as far as Sam could tell; maybe the Devil knew what Sam had come here to do. The lighting of the moonlight against Lucifer's vessel was unexpectedly...remarkable. The light being emitted from the moon at this time of night was shining on one half of Lucifer's whole body, enlightening one half in pure moonlight and the other in near total darkness. Shadows played on the crevices on his face as Sam saw his expression turn into a smug smirk.

Lucifer was still possessing Nick, although he was hardly recognisable anymore. Nick had been possessed for the last five years, and as far as Sam knew, he hadn't switched between vessels during that time. _Poor bastard_, Sam thought in empathy, looking at the peeled, cracked skin all over his body. If Sam hadn't known the vessel from when Lucifer has first revealed himself to Sam in the motel room all those years ago, he wouldn't have recognised Nick. He was almost inhuman.

"So," began Lucifer, a hint of amusement playing on his face, "you wanted to see me?"

Sam had never felt so in awe of something and so rooted to the spot in fear simultaneously.

"I..." Sam's voice had come out shaky. He tried again. "I'm here to say...yes."

Lucifer folded his arms in a curious manner and began to walk over to Sam at the other end of the room.

"Yes?"

"That's right."

Lucifer paused to consider this for a moment. "Why now?"

Sam's eyes filled with tears and searched the room as though it held the response he was looking to give. He couldn't find the words.

"Ah," Lucifer replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You've given up? You've finally admitted that I've won?"

Sam looked down, unable to admit defeat but at the same time embracing it like an old friend.

The Devil took his silence for an answer.

"Well, I'd be all too happy to upgrade from this –" he indicated at his present scarred and broken vessel, " – to someone a little bit taller." He smiled cruelly at his own joke. "But there's just one problem."

Sam's head snapped up. "What?" It came out as a whisper.

"You're not ready to take me in yet. You need a few gallons of demon blood before you can take me on, sonny."

Sam let out an audible, shaky sigh as his emotions began to get the better of him. This could not get any worse. Sam felt he had just agreed to the most awful position imaginable, only to find out that it was actually twice as bad as he's anticipated. He felt as if the ground beneath him was ready to swallow him.

"A few...gallons." He was talking mainly to himself and not to Lucifer, but the Devil took it as a prompt anyway.

"If you're serious," he continued, "I have a few in the room next door. Honestly, Sam. It's like I _knew_ you were coming."

Sam let a single tear fall before he could help it, then straightened himself to look Lucifer in the eyes. Was he being the most cowardly he'd ever been or the bravest? He didn't know.

He nodded, unable to form the words.

Lucifer clicked his fingers and around five containers appeared at Sam's feet, all full to the brim with clotted, red liquid.

"Well? You want to die on the winning side, or not?"

"_**There should be just one safe place  
in the world. People get hurt here. People fall down and stay down. And I don't like the way the song goes."**_


	5. Chapter 5

November 20th, 2014, continued.

Sam didn't want to think about what he had just done. The thought of it made him want to be sick. He noticed a disturbing contrast from the days when he'd use to feel pleasure and power from drinking the blood. But now? Now it did the opposite.

Maybe that was proof that Sam had changed over the last five years. But whether it was for the better or not, he couldn't say.

He kicked the last of the containers to the side of the room and turned to see Lucifer watching him, a mild look of entertainment of his face. Any form of torture was amusing to Lucifer, whether the person was inflicting it upon themselves or whether Lucifer was giving out the pain. Either way, it passed the time.

As Sam turned round he knew he had to be quick before he vomited, backed out of saying yes, or both.

"I'm ready."

Lucifer walked over to him and patted him on the shoulder, which made Sam's entire body shiver and feel repulsed.

"That you are, Sammy."

Sam managed to blink back tears as he made the only decision that he felt he could.

"Yes."

A blinding light filled and overwhelmed the whole room, a deafeningly high pitch of sound accompanying it. Lucifer held up his head and closed his eyes as light erupted from his vessel and reached every crevice in the room. Sam sheltered his head in his hands and closed his eyes tightly as an automatic attempt to protect himself from whatever he was experiencing, when a sudden jolt of light pushed forcefully against his chest. Sam felt the most painful sensation as the light continued to push in and puncture through his chest as he felt it inside his veins, filling every inch of his body. Pure elation mixed with sheer agony as he felt himself lose control of his limbs one by one and began to feel taken over by more and more thoughts that were not his own.

In an instant that Sam didn't even notice due to the mind-numbing pain, all the blinding light that had filled the room disappeared, now fully inhabited in its new vessel. The pain ceased in a split second, and Sam was suddenly fully conscious and aware of his surroundings once more. He was lying on the floor, remembering that the force of the light had pushed him over. He stood up, unable to do anything about it.

Lucifer was wearing him to the prom, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Sam felt himself smile as Lucifer's pulse throbbed next to his own, and the light made its way through every part of his body. He stretched out his hands, as though flexing his new "meat". Inside, Sam was powerless. There was nothing he could do right now. He had taken a back seat in his own car, and now the Devil most definitely had the wheel.

He wandered around the room whilst Lucifer adapted to his new, fresh vessel. Sam caught his own reflection in the window and saw a terrified face staring back at him, then realised that that was what he was truly feeling. Nothing but fear. Sam had never been so scared in his whole life. Eventually, Lucifer spoke both to himself and Sam to shake him out of his prison.

"Let's go and stir up a little trouble, shall we?"

"_**Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it's noon; that means we're inconsolable. These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we'll never get used to it."**_


	6. Chapter 6

November 21st, 2014.

It was daybreak by the time Sam, chained to Lucifer, decided to click his fingers and go to meet Dean Winchester. Sam had pleaded with Lucifer not to go and see his brother, screamed inside his own body, but it was like trying to make yourself heard over deafening music. Painful, tiring, and impossible to achieve.

If ever he survived and was asked, Sam would be unable to describe what being possessed by Lucifer was like. Every muscle, bone, thought, was intruded on, stolen, by an invader that was beyond powerful. Sam had no control over his physical body, and no privacy over his mental processes, either. His deepest fears, regrets, loves – none of it was a secret to Lucifer.

Sam strolled the garden confidently, looking at the occasional roses spraying colour into the otherwise dull and tired looking garden. The sudden burst of crimson amongst the dirty plants reminded Sam of the earth...being stained with blood. Blood that was all over his hands.

Sam heard a snap of a twig a few metres away and his head snapped up expectantly. As he turned around, Sam was faced with his brother. Dean's face fell with crushing disappointment and heartbreak at the sight of Sam, cleaned up in a white suit and wearing a smirk that would put anyone on edge. Dean knew in an instant that this was no longer his brother, and never would be again. He readied himself to do the one thing that he had wished to God he'd never have to, and pulled out the Colt from his jacket.

"Well," said Lucifer, thoroughly enjoying the situation. "Showtime."

"_**There's a niche in his chest where a heart would fit perfectly, **_

_**and he thinks if he could just manoeuvre one into place. Well then.**_

_**Game over.**__**"**_


End file.
